


You Cradle My Heart In Your Palms (I'm In Love)

by SweetBunnii



Series: The Last Alive [3]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Cunt, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Hybrids, Light Angst, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mutants, Penis In Vagina Sex, Pet Names, Praise Kink, Safe Sane and Consensual, Scent Kink, Smut, Trans Basil, Trans Male Character, and hole, characters def ooc, cock - Freeform, could be considered alternate meeting between basil and jaskier, its just vv soft, never played the games and havent yet read all the books, pussy, soft, terms used are:
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:07:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28081410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetBunnii/pseuds/SweetBunnii
Summary: | Those amber eyes are a sight to behold, practically glowing in the fire's warmth. Basil reaches up for him, limbs laden with sleep, and Geralt bows down willingly. Their lips meet, soft, quiet, and the witcher can't quite quell the smile that's brought forth."Geralt," Basil gasps softly against him, laced with exhaustion.His other arm lifts to meet it's pair, winding around the taller man's neck and lifting himself to his knees lazily. Geralt breaks away, if only to press another kiss to his cheek and fully hold him up on his hip. |
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Basil the Traveler
Series: The Last Alive [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1973656
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	You Cradle My Heart In Your Palms (I'm In Love)

There is the beginnings of a setting sun as Geralt heads down the familiar path towards the ford, Jaskier in tow. It reminds him of the first time he'd met Basil, despite the lack of a heavy snow storm. The skies are clear today, but the sun is no help and its usually warm rays are rendered useless. Geralt heaves a silent sigh and his breath leaves him in a thick cloud of vapor, snow crunching beneath his boots. Unfortunately, Jaskier is blabbering upon Roachㅡwhistling into the empty forest and belting out his new verses where none can judge. A caribou calls in the distance, and immediately, Geralt is thrown back into the memory of the day after he'd brought Basil to their keep to protect him from another hungry Wyvern, when the wolf had hunted a caribou for them in thanks. They reach the ford without much trouble, the lead tugging only minutely as Roach crosses it. Jaskier makes a noise in the back of his throat, disrupting the lyric he had been humming, curiosity permeating the scent of fresh pine and crisp white. The snow's covered their path, thick enough to make it look as though there is nowhere to go, and still, Geralt finds it easily.

A bluff of trees crackle when a flock of birds dart into the sky, and snow crumbles from their boughs. Their path is steep, and thin, winding through the cliff's edge. It is dangerous for those who do not know it well, but Roach is confident in her footing and Geralt could climb it with his eyes gouged. There is a sharp intake of breath, the faint scent of fear, from Jaskier and Geralt would chuckle were he not ready to fall into bed with a pile of furs and sleep for a week. He wonders if Basil is already at the keep, with his brothers and Vesemir to give him company. They know each other well by now. Basil often hunts deer and caribou for them when their reserves for the winter are low.

"Are you certain we're going the right way, Geralt?" Jaskier finally asks, voice pitched a smidge higher when he glances over the edge of the road.

"Yes," Geralt grunts.

He spots the peaks of Kaer Morhen, crumbling and old, but held together well with Vesemir's care to it. Jaskier makes another noise that says he doesn't quite trust the assurance that it is the right way. Relief floods Geralt when they reach the gates and pass fallen debris from weathered watch towers. He leads Roach into the stables where Scorpion and Keira are in their respective stalls and eating from bales of hay. Vesemir's warhorse is nowhere in sight, though Geralt has a hard time believing he's left on an adventure so late in the day. Jaskier jumps down from Roach's back while Geralt unhooks her reigns and hangs them upon the upright beam. Her saddle and blanket go next, unbuckled from beneath her and thrown over the wooden supports. He grabs her saddle bags and rests them on his shoulder. It, again, reminds him of Basil. With another sigh, Geralt gestures for Jaskier to follow him through the courtyard and into the main building of the fortress. It's the only one still standing strong.

The doors shut behind them with an echoing thunk and clack, and Jaskier inhales shakily, hissing. His arms come up around himself to keep his warmth in his body. Faint voices drawl into the grand foyer, soft spoken and quiet, alongside the crackle of a fire. They travel down to the west hall, which had been made into a sitting room after Basil's arrival because he had been tired of meeting in the dining hall. It was previously empty, with nothing more than an always lit hearth and a chest tucked against one of its walls. Eskel's crude voice is louder as they near it, still hushed, and there's a rumbling of deep laughter from what Geralt immediately recognizes to be Vesemir. Basil's scent is thicker, heavier, swirling the halls like it belongs there, embedded itself there. It's the scent of pine and tree bark, earthy and serene, heady with sleep. He drops his saddlebags at the doorway.

"We've a guest," Lambert acknowledges, first to stand and grip his brother in a hard hug.

"Mm. A bard. Thought you'd enjoy his songs," Geralt replies, rumbling voice just a stitch brighter. 

Eskel laughs wickedly into their hug, and Vesemir pats his back with a heavy hand.

"Might this friend have a name?" Vesemir asks.

"My name is Jaskier! Geralt's told me plenty about you over the years, though you all are much more intimidating in person," the bard laughs, weak and strained.

Lambert splays out on his chair again with a smirk, and Eskel joins him on its opposite while Vesemir sinks into his with a bone-rattling sigh and sips at his goblet of wine. Geralt rounds a cushioned chair with a deer skin thrown over the backrest, where he finds Basil asleep. His calves are tucked beneath him, eyes closed and face the picture of peace, but his is body angled awkwardly. Geralt cups his cheek with a gentle hand, reveling in the slow inhale and fluttering eyelids he's rewarded with. Those amber eyes are a sight to behold, practically glowing in the fire's warmth. Basil reaches up for him, limbs laden with sleep, and Geralt bows down willingly. Their lips meet, soft, quiet, and the witcher can't quite quell the smile that's brought forth.

"Geralt," Basil gasps softly against him, laced with exhaustion.

His other arm lifts to meet it's pair, winding around the taller man's neck and lifting himself to his knees lazily. Geralt breaks away, if only to press another kiss to his cheek and fully hold him up on his hip. Basil's legs are still tucked under him, toes pushing into Geralt's upper thigh in a way that he missed. There's a faintly horrified, mostly curious, expression in Jaskier's gaze as Basil nuzzles into his neck, sighing quietly.

"I'm leaving you to the wolves," Geralt says unsympathetically, using the hand that isn't curled around the wolf's ankle to pat Jaskier on the shoulder.

The bard gapes at him, full body turning to keep his gaze on the two of them when Geralt passes him to leave the room.

"Geralt?!" Jaskier exclaims, stunned, "what the fuck?"

Once they're out of the west hall, the door clacking shut behind them, Geralt raises his other hand to cradle Basil's nape, fingers tickling his soft, monochromatic locks. He inhales, savouring the mingling scents of fire and pine and _home_. Basil whimpers against his neck, and there's barely a flicker of fur on his cheek as his ears flit back. It's a movement he's missed. The witcher continues down to the stairwell, fingers curling and rubbing at the scruffy hairs, and then he's going up them, footsteps echoing along the walls. He leads them down the halls, past two, three doors, and enters the room. It's hearth is already lit, dwindling and dying down, but the room is warm and heated. The furs aren't cold when he bends down and lays Basil atop them, who pliantly goes with a small, whining complaint.

"Stoking the fire, love," Geralt murmurs, pressing his lips to the wolf's forehead for a moment.

Basil watches with lidded eyes while the man gathers a few logs from the crate and tosses them into the fire. His hands grip at the blankets above his head, arms bent at an angle and legs loosely spread. There are tears blurring his vision and he wouldn't have noticed it, were it not for the fact that Geralt's form hadn't stayed clear and crisp. The haze from his nap does not help. He blinks the tears away, and they tremble down his temples, hot against his skin. Geralt returns to kneel with one knee on the bed, leaning over him and gently gripping at his waist with large hands. They slide beneath his knit sweater, over the small valleys of his ribs and up to his sensitive nipples that pebble when exposed to the air. Basil arches into the touch as Geralt grazes over them, and then frowns disgruntledly when he passes back down to his hips.

"Geralt," Basil sighs, spreading his legs wider to fit the man between them.

His hips are lifted, instead, for Geralt to peel his trousers and smallclothes from the seat of his arse, pull them down his legs, and throw them across the room. A shiver shakes his thighs at being so exposed, has arousal pooling in his abdomen. He moans weakly at the sight of Geralt ducking down and kissing his inner thigh intimately, soft and incessant. It settles a tingle in his cunt, has him growing wet and hard. It's been too long since they last did this.

"I can smell you," Geralt mumbles against the meat of his thigh, breath hot and humid, "delicious boy."

Basil releases a trembling breath, hips twitching at the use of _boy_.

"Geralt," he whimpers, grasping harder at the furs.

"What would you like, love?" Geralt nibbles at his skin, careful.

"Devour me," Basil gasps, "please?"

"Mm, good boy."

The scent of his arousal turns sharper, even he can smell it clearly at this point, like the sweetness of berries and flowers, lavender and roses and honeysuckles. Geralt's nose nudges against his sex and it makes him shake harder when he feels the man inhale. An uninhibited, loud moan echoes into the room as a wet heat, burning like a pool of magma, embraces his cockhead. Basil tucks his face against the crook of his arm, cheeks a furious red and tail twitching from where it's resting beneath his arse. One of Geralt's hands curl around to his back to rub soothingly at the base of it while his tongue laves over his hole. Whines hitch at Basil's throat, hips writhing tensely, small movements against the witcher's mouth.

" _Geralt_ ," he sobs, when the heat becomes too overbearing.

And the man doesn't let up, devouring his slick and his cock, drowning him in pleasure. Saliva trails down his arse, unbidden, and dirtily wet noises fill the silence, over the crackle of the fire. Basil moans, and whines, and writhes, and Geralt doesn't stop, tongue ducking under the hood and lips suckling at his cock. He presses up into Geralt's mouth with broken gasps, heaving breaths as he comes, sudden. Geralt doesn't pull away until the trembles in his thighs become tremors and his pussy is flushed deeply. Basil's eyelids flutter, mouth gaping open against his upper arm. It has been too long since his last satisfying orgasm; he'd been wound up the entire journey to Kaer Morhen. The witcher leans up on his forearms, lips and chin shimmering with slick and spit, looking all too pleased with himself for making the wolf come so soon.

"I thought of you on the way here," Geralt confesses quietly, caressing the under side of his thighs, "when we first met. Your scent was what made me bring you to Kaer Morhen."

"My scent?" Basil asks, breathy and soft.

"Mm. Smelled like pine needles, tree bark and herbs. Like home," Geralt says, relishing in the way Basil traps his bottom lip between his teeth.

He lifts himself up properly onto the bed to hover over the wolf, cock straining in his breeches. The heat of his body is nearly unbearable, and entirely welcoming. Basil gazes at his golden eyes with damp eyelashes and heavy amber, alluring and tired.

"Fuck me?" Basil whispers.

His cheeks flair darker at his own words, sweat already shimmering at his brow with the heat of the room. Geralt grins, all sharp fangs and lust, and leans down to capture his lips.

"You want my cock?" The witcher says, breathless and low.

"Fuck, please, Geralt," Basil whines, hips canting up to seek friction and fingers curling.

"You going to lay there and take it like a good boy?" Geralt drawls, and it rumbles in his chest.

"Uhuh"ㅡBasil shudders, stomach quiveringㅡ"I-I'll be good, promise."

Geralt hums with contentment, satisfied by his answer. Much to his distaste, the man slips off the bed with one last kiss to his lips and it has a complaining bemoan falling from his throat. Unaffected, Geralt strips himself from his leather jerkin, alongside those mildly hideous pauldrons, and unlaces his vambraces. He pauses, though, after untucking his shirt from those unholy breeches. Basil watches him unwaveringly, digging his nails into the furs.

"How would you have me, love?" Geralt asks, sultry and thick with his false Rivian accent, "bare as the day I was born?"

Basil swallows on a glob of saliva, thick and reaching unpleasant. His mind is a jumble of _need_ and _want_ and _don't make me decide_ , and the keening whine that tumbles from his mouth feels utterly pathetic.

"Don't know," he begs, helpless and whimpering, " _fuck me_ , Geralt, please."

The witcher seems far too smug as his shirt is tossed somewhere, and he unlaces his breeches with a steady haste that Basil could never have. When that monstrosity of a cock is revealed, bobbing gently and already dripping precome, Basil can't stop the full-bodied shudder that physically twists him, back arching. His cunt _throbs_ , and, oh, he is unequivocally _pouring_ slick. Decidedly, Geralt throws his breeches and smallclothes into the abyss as well.

"You love my cock, don't you, puppy?" Geralt hums, gripping himself tight to slather his cock in precome.

Basil whines jealously at Geralt's hiss of pleasure, twisting the furs in his grip because good boys don't touch themselves without permission. He watches as his lover strokes himself, slow and tactful, while he trods over to the chest at the end of the bed to grab the oil from it. The heat of the room grows impossibly hot, chest and back now dewy with sweat, and hair plastering to his forehead damply. A demanding ache hovers in his abdomen, thick with need and lust. Geralt drops the vile on the bed, next to his hip, and kneels back on it. Fully, this time, between Basil's trembling legs. His hands return, wandering over his stomach and ribs and thumbing at his nipples again. He gets another keen in response. Geralt leans down to press a few open mouthed kisses to his sternum, humming lowly as he reaches for the oil and uncaps it with a noisy _pop_. The room is immediately doused in aromatic chamomile and lavender.

Geralt slathers his fingers in it, dragging his lips up to the wolf's neck and coating his cock, before capping the vile again and dropping it back down next to his hip. A sigh falls between them, gentle, and then a moan when Geralt bites down at Basil's scent glands lining the column of his neck.

"Geralt," Basil urges, hips twitching.

He feels the man smile against him, biting back the whine when he pulls away. Geralt brings his hands back down to his pussy and dips both his thumbs into the heat, only to spread him apart and carefully guide his cock in. Basil moans unabashedly, tossing his head back and lashes fluttering. It fills himㅡ _fuck_ , he's so _full_ ㅡdeep and thick and _hot_. His hips lift without his permission to take Geralt even deeperㅡso deep, it's like he's in his _stomach_. And Geralt pushes him back down into the mattress firmly, nails digging through his skin. The shorter male sobs, arms stretching out and fingers finding new purchase in their pillows.

"Stay," Geralt says, keeps his hands there, and bottoms out.

Basil snags his lip in his teeth with a stuttering breath and trembles. He clenches around Geralt's cock and reaps the gratification when the witcher grunts, chest heaving lightly. The drag is nearly unbearable as he pulls out, up to the tip, and thrusts back in. Basil's eyes fall shut, shivering, and he goes pliantly when Geralt snakes his thumb into his mouth and pulls it open.

"Good boy," he purrs, "now let me hear all your noises, puppy."

Geralt sets a bruising pace that has Basil instantly whining and moaning, body jerking along the furs with each thrust. He's fullㅡfuck, he's _full_ , practically spilling over it's so much. And, gods, it's been so _long_ since they've fucked, since they've even _seen_ each other. Notㅡnot since early spring, and Basil sobs at the realization, suddenly overwhelmed.

"Geralt, Geralt," he gasps, amber eyes blinking open with returning tears, searching.

"I'm here," Geralt says, pulling him in for a drowning kiss.

He cries into it, and the man doesn't stop fucking him; he doesn't want him to. The tears stain his crimson cheeks, mix with his perspiration, fire against his skin. Geralt cradles him, fingers sliding over his damp hips and down to his cock. He tugs at it with just the right amount of pressure, between his forefinger and thumb, and Basil chokes out another moan. A ball tumbles around in his abdomen, curling and twist with spiking arousal. Heat simmers in his bones, incessant, as Geralt hits that certain spot inside him with terrifying accuracy in each thrust. They break apart with shimmering lips.

"I love you," Basil cries, soft, "I love you."

"I love you, too, puppy," Geralt rumbles, and Basil nearly faints.

"Wanna come, Geralt," Basil begs, whining into the humid air.

His fingers claw at their pillows, clutching and gripping.

"Come anytime you want, love." Geralt noses at his damp cheek with a small gasp.

He keeps thrusting, pulling and turning at his insides and rearranging them. His chest aches and trembles, lungs shaking in their casing. Basil's brows draw tight as the ball finally unfurls, another row broken gasps leaving his lipsㅡhe comes, hips twitching and quaking and grinding back into that cock, and back arching high off the bed. He clenches heavy and hard around Geralt, who rewards him with another low groan, cock twitching inside him. He's not really sure if he feels Geralt come, but a sudden _heat_ fills him, thick and _there_ , and, _gods_ , he missed this. When Geralt begins to pull out, Basil whimpers, sensitive, and clenches down again instinctively. The witcher pauses, and with his softening cock, buries himself back inside his cunt as deep as he possibly can. One of his hands reaches up to brush his perspire-soaked hair out of Basil's eyes. Basil shivers, sighing. Tears still blur his vision as he looks up at his lover.

"I love you," Geralt says tenderly.

"I love you, too," Basil sniffles, meek.

Geralt holds him gently and rolls them over, careful to keep his cock in the wolf. And Basil sinks against him, exhaustion returning tenfold. They settle into the bed, limbs heavy and satisfied.


End file.
